Stars Watching the Low Road
by SlytherinHouseMouse
Summary: The summer of 1998 is a hard one for Andromeda, but a little hypocritical advice from another grieving woman leads to long-yearned for reconciliations and allows her to start to rebuild her life.
1. Two Sisters By A Graveside

_July 1998_

She walked through the dusty streets of the old village, heading towards the centre, where she knew the church lay. She felt uncomfortable in the muggle clothes she wore, but she did not want to draw attention to herself. Her dark head was bowed; her cheek pressed against the soft head of the baby she held so tightly. She worried that perhaps she was holding him too tightly, but he was so quiet: would not she have heard a squawk of protest if she were hurting him? Panic rose in her throat: babies were not supposed to be so quiet: she must have smothered him. She had killed him. She had lost him, just like she had lost everyone else. But then a tiny hand reached up and grasped a lock of brown hair. She let out a faint cry of pain, and a sigh of relief. She had been like this for the past two and a half months: paranoid that something was going to happen to him; that he was going to be taken away from her; just like everything else she had ever loved had been. She felt her cheeks burn. It was a hot day. The sky blazed a brilliant blue; everything was bright, sharply outlined: alive. It felt slightly obscene, and wholly inappropriate, that the first day she came to a graveyard the world was emphasising life. It felt like the earth was mocking her. Today was the first day she had ventured out of the house since…(she choked on the thought). She had not even been able to bring herself to attend the…(no, she would _not _say _that word). _ She was selfish;she was a terrible mother, a terrible wife. She was afraid to go out; not just because it felt disrespectful, somehow, to go about her business normally, but because she remembered. She remembered what it had been like sixteen and a half years ago, when her sister had been arrested: the stares, the whispers, the, in some cases outright hatred on people's faces, the names, the abuse. All because of her accursed face, that so closely resembled her sister's. It had been difficult enough then. But now? To be held responsible for her blood, when it had been that blood that had stolen everything from her? That would be too much to bear. So she stayed away from everyone.

She knelt in front of the gravestone, failing to notice as her knees grew damp with the morning dew. Her blonde hair, streaked now with just a few strands of grey, brushed against the cold marble as she traced her sister's name with her fingers. How she regretted how it had ended; how she had allowed their relationship to fragment. If only she had handled things differently; if only she had been stronger, perhaps things would have turned out differently. A single tear slipped down her cheek.

A soft footstep and an infant's cry made her aware that she was no longer alone. She turned. A dark-haired woman stood just inside the gate, cradling a tiny child in her arms. The woman seemed to hesitate, as if she felt she did not belong there. Her dress was plain and rather old-fashioned: a calf-length, dark green tartan skirt; a simple blouse and cardigan. She looked like she had stepped out of a painting: a 1940s war widow. For a brief moment the blonde wondered if that was exactly what she was: a ghostly lost soul, condemned to haunt the graveyard for eternity. How old was she? Thirty-five? Fifty? The weariness of grief etched on her face made it difficult to tell. Was that her child or grandchild?

The blonde stood up and approached the silent creature, who started and looked ready to flee.

'It's hard, isn't it? When you've lost someone recently.'

'They're not buried here.' The woman spoke softly, but the blonde could make out a voice that was low and refined and aristocratic and trying very hard to suppress every hint of emotion. 'I needed to mourn, but I don't think I'm ready to see their names carved on stone. This seemed an appropriate place to come.' She paused. 'I know I sound ridiculous.'

'You don't. This is the first time I have been able to bring myself to come here. My husband doesn't know I'm here.'

'Why? Why didn't you tell him?' There was a suggestion of accusation in her tone.

'He didn't like my sister very much. I'm not sure what he would think about my coming here. Who…you said "they"?'

'My husband and daughter. And my son-in-law.' She nodded towards the child in her arms, 'three months old and already an orphan. He was five days old when they died. _Five days old._ He'll never even remember them.'

The blonde noticed that the woman did not cry. She was speaking of such loss, but with such cold detachment; her eyes remained cold and blank, and her posture, with a back that was ramrod straight, did not betray her sorrow. The blonde found this rather disconcerting.

'But _you_ loved your sister?'

'Once. Yes. No,' the blonde faltered. 'I mean, I always loved her, but for a long time, I allowed myself to forget it. I hated him: her husband, and his whole world for taking her away from me. I hated her child, for being a living symbol of what I had lost.'

The dark-haired woman tensed. For a fleeting moment a look of fear and revulsion crossed her face. But then her expression relaxed, and her shoulders drooped with weariness.

'You remind me of _my_ sister. We were so close growing up, two parts of a whole; three parts of a whole, with my younger sister too. But then I married a man my family didn't approve of, and that big sister I had always worshipped couldn't forgive me. None of the family could. If she had only met him, talked to him; if she could only have seen how happy he made me feel, and what a truly good man he was. But she couldn't see past his family's status, and he had stolen me from her, and so he was the enemy, as was my daughter, being that she was a symbol of our love. And my sister's behaviour, it, well, it caused a lot of damage.

'I'm sorry,' the dark-haired woman whispered. 'I shouldn't have said that. I shouldn't have compared you to her. It's just, what you said, it, struck a chord. But Bella always did take things to extremes, even when we were children. She died in battle; I suppose it was appropriate.'

The blonde was not sure why the woman was apologising; she could see the similarities herself, apart from the battle part. The woman had given her speech so matter of factly, her eyes expressionless; but the calm, emotionless demeanour had become an ineffective illusion: somehow every fibre of her being was betraying that she was completely broken. She adjusted the baby so that she held him in one arm, reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, which she clutched tightly.

'Narcissa wrote to me last month. My younger sister. She wanted to meet me, said she was sorry, for everything. The war had made her…what was it? rethink her priorities. I was tempted to throw the letter in the fire: did she think after twenty-six years I'd run sobbing into her arms? When she was complicit in it all? Am I supposed to forget that?'

Battle? The war? Was this woman a ghost after all? Unless… A thought crossed her mind. The blonde looked at her companion curiously. She wondered...

'But you didn't throw it away?'

'But I didn't throw it away. I don't know why. Though perhaps I always wondered if it was my fault, what she got involved in. Narcissa was always easily led: she always did what was expected of her, she never was one for making her own mind up about anything, and we never asked her to. We never asked her to take responsibility for her own actions. We spoilt her, we babied her, and then I left. She was always going to be vulnerable to their influence, especially once she married Lucius. And I wasn't there to protect her. I left her to the wolves.' She hesitated, as if a little surprised by the words she had just pronounced.

The blonde had been listening to her companion, although she had formed the impression that she wasn't really being spoken to at all; she was just witnessing a soliloquy. But that didn't stop her from answering.

'But you do still love her?' there was a hint of desperation in her voice.

'I can't deny it.' She laughed bitterly, 'even now there's a part of me that wants nothing more than to run to her and tell her everything's going to be all right; that I'm here for her. I never _could_ stop loving her, and that's why her shunning me and my family hurt so much. If she had come to me two years ago, asking for help, I would have welcomed her with open arms; there would have been no question. But now, I'm not sure that love on its own is enough, not after everything that's happened.'

The blonde's face was tinged with sadness.

'I never made up with my sister, and it's many, many years too late now. I kept hating her, because it was easier to hate her than to love her and be hit with that wall of grief. It was only last year that something my son said made me see sense, and I have regretted my actions every day this past year, and I would give anything to be able to see her again and offer to start afresh. You obviously have a lot more to forgive than I ever did, but, you miss her. It won't be easy, but if you don't try to rebuild, perhaps it's you who'll suffer the most.'

'Perhaps,' she did not sound entirely convinced. She hesitated. 'I'm Anna,' she returned the note to her pocket and held out her free hand. 'And this is my grandson.'

The baby grabbed another lock of brown hair, twisted it round his tiny hand and planted it in his mouth.

'_No_, Theodore.'

The blonde woman smiled tenderly. 'He's beautiful. Forgive me,' she offered her hand. 'Petunia.'

'Petunia? Petunia Dursley?' Andromeda, astonished, looked over at the grave the woman had come to visit. 'Of course, Godric's Hollow, I should have realised.'

Petunia looked taken aback. 'Do I know you?'

'No. Nymphadora and Remus mentioned you once or twice in passing, that's all. Your nephew came to my home the night you went into hiding,' her face twisted sardonically, 'I can't say he was especially polite on meeting me.'

So the woman was a witch. With the talk of battles and war, Petunia had suspected as much. It was strange how little that was bothering her. But that name.

'Nymphadora? The girl with the pink hair? She came to speak to Hestia once when we were in hiding. She let me feel the baby kick. She was your daughter? She's dead?'

Andromeda jerked her head in response.

'I'm so sorry.'

Andromeda swallowed and looked at Petunia. 'Tell Harry I'm sorry I've been so difficult, and he's welcome to come and see his godson next week.' Her face darkened slightly, and she gripped her grandson possessively, 'just so long as he understands that I'll be there the whole time, and he will not be taking him out of the house. And I'm more than aware how much I look like Bellatrix; if he makes an issue of it again I'll curse him to kingdom come.'

'I'll tell him.' She couldn't tell this woman who so missed her family that she was the last person Harry would want to speak to, but it didn't matter. She had no idea how to contact Harry, but she suspected that Dudley might.

**A/N Yes, I realise, a slightly random encounter, but hopefully you agree there was a point to it. Reviews and constructive criticism welcome.**


	2. Familiar Faces

Harry knocked nervously on the door. He was excited at the prospect of meeting his godson for the first time, but was unsure how Teddy's grandmother would react when she saw him. Petunia had passed on the message from Mrs Tonks, word for word, via Dudley (quite how his aunt had ended up speaking to Andromeda was a mystery he was yet to solve). Dudley had seemed to find the message funny. Harry suspected that Dudley, having heard the word "grandmother", was imagining a small, dottery, white-haired lady who was about as threatening as a teddy bear: a lamb trying with words to masquerade as a wolf. Harry, on the other hand, had met the proud, statuesque, 44 year old and had enough experience of her family to know that there was little more terrifying than a Black sister in a temper.

When the door opened Harry had a difficulty not flinching. Andromeda really was the spitting image of Bellatrix; the strain of the war and the pain of what she had lost had only emphasised this: Andromeda had lost weight, and her face bore the dead, gaunt look of someone fresh out of Azkaban. But there was Teddy, clutched to her chest; his tiny cheek resting on her shoulder; her cheek resting on his soft, downy head. Without saying a word she motioned for Harry to enter, and he followed her inside.

The living room was small but elegantly furnished and decorated. He had, of course, been in it a year earlier (almost to the day, he realised with a jolt), but on that occasion he had been a little too preoccupied to take in his surroundings. It was no ordinary room: it breathed magic, but it had none of the clutter and chaos of the Weasley's home: everything, with the possible exception of the fairy preening itself on the mantelpiece, was very proper, and Harry remembered how Nymphadora had told him how houseproud Andromeda was, and how untidy Ted. Andromeda seemed to read his mind.

'Everything stays in its place now, without Ted here. I always used to nag at him about his sloppiness. It's strange the things one misses.'

She seemed to be talking to herself rather than him. She was not looking at Harry: she was not really looking at anything; she gazed into a patch of air, her eyes unfocused. Harry was not entirely certain that she had even properly processed the fact that he was sitting there. He watched as Andromeda lifted Teddy from her shoulder and sat him on her knee. She leaned in close to him, ran a finger across his forehead and stroked his nose. The little boy smiled and grasped a lock of her hair, _his_ hair turning a triumphant red. She winced slightly and carefully prised the strands from his fist. Harry could see that Andromeda clearly loved Teddy: she was tender and gentle and affectionate. It was slightly bizarre seeing such loving behaviour coming from a woman who so closely resembled Bellatrix. However, despite her obvious competency in caring for the baby, there was clearly something off about her manner. The arm round Teddy served as a physical barrier between him and Harry, who got the distinct impression that Andromeda saw him as nothing more than a strange intruder in her home; a potentially dangerous one who could pose a threat to her precious grandson. Harry was desperate to hold the baby, but his Gryffindor courage failing him, did not dare ask.

It was more than apparent that Andromeda was not coping, she looked terrible: like an empty shell. She seemed to be avoiding facing her grief; isolating herself to avoid the sympathy which would remind her of what she was refusing to face. She was caring for Teddy instead of, rather than as well as, herself. Harry was worried about being seen as impertinent, but he had to speak to her.

'Mrs Tonks? Mrs Weasley wanted to ask you round for dinner.'

'Why would she do that?' She looked at him curiously, finally meeting his eye. 'Molly hates me. I don't need her pity.'

'Why would she hate you?'

'In my sixth year I cursed Fabian to the point that he ended up in the hospital wing.'

Harry gaped at her.

'He deserved it. He was tormenting Narcissa; you ought to have seen the lump on her head. I couldn't let him get away with that. I don't believe that was quite the story he told his sister though, and Molly Prewett always knew how to hold a grudge.'

Harry, being rather fond of Mrs Weasley, suspected this assessment of her character was more Andromeda's perception than the truth.

'Mind you,' she laughed, with a slightly manic expression that reminded Harry painfully of Sirius, 'she did kill my sister, so perhaps we're even now.'

Harry did not know how to respond to this. It was quite possibly the most wildly inappropriate joke he had ever heard. Back to ignoring him, Andromeda tickled Teddy's stomach and the baby responded with a gummy smile.

'Mrs Tonks, when did you last go out?'

'I was out last week. I bumped into your aunt. Which I believe is how you came to be here,' she responded icily.

'I mean, when did you last meet your _friends_?'

Her head snapped up and she responded with a level of venom that Harry had not anticipated. 'What friends, Harry? What friends do you want me to go out and socialise with? I had two friends at school. Their names were Bella and Cissy. I don't know if you realise but they deserted me when I married Ted. Ted had a number of friends, most of whom deserted him when he married me. They didn't trust the pureblood, Slytherin, sister of a Death-Eater. None of the ones who could thole me survived the first war. After Sirius was sent to Azkaban, people became even more suspicious: even the _Gryffindor_ Black had gone bad, and spectacularly so, why should anyone trust _me_? Bellatrix being convicted was the last straw, few people believed that a Black could be anything other than a supporter of Voldemort after that, and lacking influence, and looking as I do, I was an easy target. People would spit at me or hex me in the street. Ted used to fight for my honour. We were outcasts in the Wizarding world, completely isolated, but we were outcasts _together._ What do you think it will be like for me this time? I have _no one_.'

She clutched Teddy. 'Do you think I want _him_ to have to endure that?'

Harry was horrified. He had never really thought of the impact her family's reputation would have had on Andromeda. If he was being entirely honest, he had to admit he would never have considered Andromeda at all if it had not been for Teddy. But now he saw just how hard things had been for her, and just how much she had lost. It was no wonder she was shutting herself away.

Tears were welling in Andromeda's eyes. She turned her head away from Harry, stood up with Teddy and swiftly left the room. Harry was sensitive enough to realise she needed to be left alone. He sat twiddling his thumbs, uncomfortable sitting in a stranger's house (particularly one who despite inviting him would evidently prefer that he was not there) before he remembered he had a newspaper in his pocket, and he pulled it out to read. By and by Andromeda returned.

'Theodore's asleep. Perhaps it's time you were going.' It was not a request.

Harry put down his copy of the Daily Prophet and the front page caught Andromeda's eye. The headline blasted out "Malfoys pardoned after Potter testimony".

'Why?' she asked. She looked doubtful. 'I presume it wasn't an attempt to gain my approval?'

'No.' said Harry. 'Your sister saved my life: I felt I owed her a favour.'

'Excuse me?'

A few weeks later Narcissa Malfoy watched as an unfamiliar owl flew towards her carrying a letter. The owl landed beside her and she reached out and relieved it of its burden. She looked at the handwriting; even after all these years it was achingly familiar to her. She did not dare get her hopes up: she did not know what the letter said. Andromeda could well have responded with: "do not even think about contacting me again". But the fact that she had received any response at all made Narcissa's heart skip a beat. A note, for her, in her sister's elegant script. She carefully broke the seal and read:

"Meet me at Pendle's at noon on Saturday. Andromeda."

It was more than Narcissa had dared to hope. The sisters were communicating once again.

It was quarter to twelve when Narcissa arrived at the restaurant in Diagon Alley. Narcissa did not usually arrive early for anything, but she did not think her sister would appreciate her arriving "fashionably late", and Narcissa did not want to do anything to upset her. She had been surprised at the choice of Pendle's: the sisters had often eaten there together as teenagers. Narcissa was unsure whether the choice of venue was supposed to be a peace offering, simply logistical (they both knew where it was), or related to Andromeda still having a weakness for the famous dessert menu. She smiled at the memory of being thirteen and ever the lady, demurely refusing dessert but getting food envy when Andromeda's cheesecake arrived. Andromeda had eaten the cake slowly, savouring every bite and making none too subtle demonstrations as to how delicious it was until Narcissa, unable to contain herself, had begged her to share. Andromeda had scooped up a crumb on her fork and passed it to Narcissa with a deadpan expression on her face whereupon Bellatrix, rolling her eyes, had grabbed the plate from under Andromeda's nose and passed it over to Narcissa. Then Andromeda had been the one protesting. But she had allowed Narcissa the sweet. Andromeda had never _really _been able to refuse her sister anything.

At twelve o'clock on the dot, the door to the restaurant opened and Andromeda walked in. She was alone. On seeing her sister Narcissa stood up and walked towards her. Andromeda's face was expressionless. The two women stood looking at each other for a moment before Narcissa impulsively threw her arms around her sister. Andromeda did not return the embrace: her body tensed and Narcissa, sensing this, pulled away. Andromeda nodded curtly.

'Narcissa. Shall we sit down?'

'You haven't brought your grandson?'

'He's with Tessa.'

'Tessa?'

'Ted's sister.'

An uncomfortable silence. Two words which spoke a thousand. The great gulf between them. The conversation, if one could call it that, was moving painfully slowly, and Narcissa had to remind herself that she had expected this, and even this was more than she deserved. But the cold formality was agonising.

'Does Lucius know you're here?'

'Yes.'

'With me?'

'Yes, Anna. I told him.'

Andromeda raised an eyebrow.

'I promise. I want to do this properly.'

'How's Draco?'

'Coping. I always thought of him as a Malfoy: he looks so much like Lucius; but he was a Black all along. It was Regulus all over again, swept up in teenage bravado, without any idea of what he was getting himself into, and then finding out too late that…that that wasn't who he was.'

A waitress arrived to take their order. She obviously recognised them, as she looked from one woman to the other in astonishment and dropped her notebook. Sensing the tension in the air, she shook as she took their order and departed hurriedly.

'Did you have a funeral for Bellatrix?'

If Narcissa had been expecting a question, it was not this. She hesitated. How on earth could she approach the answer sensitively?

'Something had to be done with the body. Mother arranged a cremation and had the ashes interred in the family crypt, but there was no ceremony.'

'Did you tell her you were meeting me?'

'No. I didn't know if you'd want her to know. I get the impression she wants to see you though.'

Another long silence.

'Harry told me what you did.'

Narcissa started. 'I realised you were right, what you told Bellatrix, all those years ago. The Dark Lord cared about no one but himself, and Draco was threatened. I realised that wasn't who I was either.' She paused. 'Why did you agree to come?'

Andromeda sighed. She had been expecting the question. 'I love Theodore, with all my heart, but he is yet to master the art of conversation. I need some adult company, but you and Molly Weasley are the only people in the magical world who have been in touch.'

'What about Harry?'

'As I said, I need some _adult_ company. His aunt, Petunia, seems keen to get to know me, but her husband is one of the most revolting, ignorant, crass, self-satisfied buffoons I have ever met, and it turns out I have an historic grudge against his sister. It doesn't say much for Petunia's judgement. And anyway,' Andromeda took a sip of wine, 'she buys her own furniture.' Narcissa smiled at this remark: Andromeda could not entirely shake her upbringing.

'And before you say anything, Narcissa, I inherited most of mine from Uncle Alphard. As for Molly Weasley: she is an appalling woman who I have never exchanged more than three words with in my life; she has always hated me, and grief is not going to suddenly turn us into friends. She's only being nice because she feels sorry for me, and I neither need nor want pity, particularly hers. You, on the other hand, got in touch because you feel sorry for _yourself_, and you want your big sister to make it all better again.' The corner of her mouth twitched. 'I respect that. And sister is the key word. I loved you once upon a time, however historic that relationship might now be.'

Narcissa winced.

'There's also the fact', Andromeda continued, 'that every time I look at Molly I can't help thinking "you killed my sister"'.

Narcissa could not believe what she had just heard. Andromeda looked at her shocked face.

'I know it doesn't make sense: Bellatrix murdered my Nymphadora, and I should hate her; I should be glad she's dead. I should be thanking Molly for avenging my daughter. But I can't think like that. And you're the only person who might understand. I can just imagine the revulsion if I tried explaining how I'm feeling to Molly, or Harry, or Augusta. But I remember Bella Black, who was my best friend, who always looked out for me. And I remember seeing her fall. I understand why she joined the Death-Eaters in the first place. I loathed her decision, but at the same time, I understood what drove her to make it. I kept wishing she would change her mind, that she would see sense, that she would come back. But Voldemort destroyed her: he mutilated his own soul, and he used her and manipulated her to the point that she lost hers too. I hated him; I never could hate her. And with Voldemort's death, his _undisputable_ death, perhaps she could have been set free. Believe me, I would have wanted her to spend the rest of her life in Azkaban for killing my baby; but with him gone, she might have shown remorse. I wanted Bella Black to look in my eyes with sorrow; to see the pain she had caused, and to ask for forgiveness. To have at least a semblance of redemption. I wanted to see if there was anything of my big sister left in there. But Molly Weasley denied me that. My sister died as Bellatrix Lestrange, and that hurts. We weren't really all that different: Bellatrix and me. We both wanted the same thing; we just approached it in different ways. We were both frustrated by what life seemed to promise us; we both wanted fulfilment: to be able to use our talents, to take control of our own futures, to find our own paths rather than accept the ones that had been mapped out for us. Bellatrix's way of achieving that was just rather more destructive than mine.'

Andromeda closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

'I always thought we were safe. I always imagined that however angry she was with me, however deep into darkness she had sunk, that there was a line she wouldn't cross. I shouldn't have been so arrogant.'

Cracks were starting to appear in Andromeda's glacial façade: she looked anxious. Narcissa could sense that she had something more she wanted to say, but was struggling to frame the words. She suspected Andromeda had a lot she wanted to say to her, little of it complimentary, and Narcissa was preparing for the onslaught: Andromeda was being unnervingly calm; she had to take her anger out on _someone_. It did not come. Instead, a tiny voice, barely a whisper, came from her sister's lips.

'When Ted was killed I was worried about telling Tessa and her parents; I was scared they would blame me. Tessa and Elizabeth and Mike have been so good to me, I don't think I could have borne it if I had lost them. They were distraught, of course, but they didn't take their grief out on me. Tessa was so excited so see Theodore today. She always adored Nymphadora.'

Another uncomfortable silence. Narcissa could not even begin to imagine how Andromeda was feeling. Every day since the final battle Narcissa had thanked the stars for the miracle that her family had survived intact. But sitting in front of Andromeda, she felt guilty: her beautiful, blameless sister had lost everything. She was living Narcissa's worst nightmare.

'Why on earth would they have blamed you?'

'Because if Ted hadn't married me, he would very probably still be alive today,' she snapped. And then, quietly, 'Bellatrix killed them to punish me, didn't she?'

And at that Andromeda's composure finally broke down. In the middle of a restaurant, surrounded by people, the proud, imperious daughter of the House of Black, who had never in her life cried in public, let out a cry like a wounded animal and her body convulsed with uncontrolled sobs. Everyone in the restaurant was looking at them now, and Narcissa could hear the whispers: 'no wonder…Andromeda Tonks…poor woman…it's about time…the banished Black…her husband…her daughter…yes, killed by her sister, that's right…is that _Narcissa_ _Malfoy_ with her?' Narcissa stood up and stepped towards her sister. She put her arms around her and this time Andromeda did not object. Instead, she clutched at Narcissa's robes and buried her face in her sister's chest.

'I miss them so much. Why could she not have killed me too?'

Narcissa held her tightly and just let her cry. It was a full fifteen minutes before Andromeda's sobs subsided. Narcissa gently wiped her sister's tear-stained face and gave her a weak smile. Andromeda, embarrassed by her breakdown, did not meet her sister's eye. They ate their meal in silence.

After the plates were cleared, the waitress came around offering the dessert menu. Narcissa cocked her head and looked at her sister expectantly. Andromeda allowed herself a guilty smile and ordered the legendary cheesecake. Looking at Narcissa she smirked, 'don't think you're getting any this time. If you want some, you can order your own'.

An hour later the two women left the restaurant. They stood awkwardly together in Diagon Alley.

'Are we all right, Anna?'

Andromeda looked at Narcissa almost pityingly.

'What do you mean by "all right"? We can never go to back to how things were, how things would have been, had prejudices not intervened. You must realise that. But we can't go back to how things _have been_. I don't think either of us want that. Let's take this slowly.'

Narcissa nodded. She turned to leave, but hesitated and turned back. She looked at her sister and swallowed. Andromeda looked at her expectantly.

'She didn't do it to punish you.'

'What did you say?'

'I don't know how to word this, Anna, I really don't. I don't want you to think I'm making excuses for her; I don't want you to think I'm trying to…,' her voice trailed off.

'But you deserve the truth, and I hate the thought of you blaming yourself, because right now it seems to me that that's what you're doing. There was a line she wouldn't cross. She only killed your daughter because the Dar-, You-Kn-, I mean _Voldemort_, ordered her to. She wouldn't have done it otherwise; at least, she wouldn't have targeted her; but Bellatrix wouldn't disobey a direct order from _him_. She loved him, but she feared him in equal measure. She was terrified by the end; became more and more extreme because she was so desperate to prove her loyalty, so scared of making a wrong move. I wanted to warn you, I truly, truly did; but we, Lucius and I, we were under house arrest, and everything we did was scrutinised; everything was watched.

'It sounds ridiculous, and this is what I'm scared of saying to you, because I don't know how to word it without it sounding like I somehow want you to be grateful, and that's not it at all.' She took a deep breath.

'Bellatrix was targeting your daughter on Voldemort's orders, but somewhere deep down she was still reluctant to harm you. She knew where you lived…'

'I realise that, given a group of Death-Eaters tortured Ted and me in our home.'

'But they didn't kill him, or arrest him, not then. They could have done, but they didn't.'

'Because Bellatrix warned them not to? Is that what you're trying to say?'

Narcissa nodded.

'She warned them not to kill; she said it was because the Dark Lord had only ordered them to get information, and they must stick to the letter of his orders; she said they mustn't waste time, or create more…mess than necessary. And then, the whole nine months when Voldemort controlled the Ministry, your daughter was at home. Bellatrix knew that. When she was actually face to face with your Nymphadora in battle, she did everything to fulfil Voldemort's orders, but outside of those occasions she didn't go out of her way to hunt her down.

'I don't know if I'm…I'm not saying that makes it all right, or… I just want you to know the truth.'

Andromeda looked at her sister's distressed face. She nodded slowly.

'I understand,' her shoulders slumped. 'I'm not sure if it makes it better or worse; that she did still care, but did it anyway. But thank you for telling me; for being so honest,' she looked at her watch. 'I should be going now, Theodore hasn't been apart from me before, he's going to be wondering where I've got to.'

'May I...would you allow me…might I meet him?'

A ghost of a smile flickered across Andromeda's face. 'We'll see, all right?' She put her hands on her sister's shoulders and kissed her cheek softly.

'It was good to see you, Cissy.'

Andromeda turned away and walked down Diagon Alley. Narcissa smiled. She had called her Cissy.

**A/N People might not agree with me on this one, but I always thought it odd that Andromeda, the ultimate blood-traitor, and her family survived all the way through the first war, and for so long in the second. I always thought it strange that Bellatrix was ordered to kill Tonks, but even then she only attacked her when she met her in battle. A pregnant woman sitting at home at an address the Death-Eaters already knew about, and had already penetrated? Nymphadora was an easy target, and yet she survived till the very last moment. Just a thought… (And I know Bellatrix attacked her in the Department of Mysteries, but I always saw that as her duelling an Auror, rather than attacking her niece.)**

**And by the way, yes, I am intending to write a story involving Andromeda having dinner with the Dursleys. I find the idea rather amusing…**

**Anyway, reviews/constructive criticism greatly appreciated!**


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